Languid
by anne-writes
Summary: Hermione and Severus after the war. Sad, I suppose. They're both pretty broken.
1. Chapter 1

_**Lately I've been wishing I had one desire,**_  
_**Something that would make me never want another,**_  
_**Something that would make it so that nothing matters,**_  
_**All would be clearer then.**_

_A Perfect Sonnet, by Bright Eyes._

**:::::**

Severus sat in a threadbare armchair in Spinner's End, tapping his fingers against his knee and staring out the window at rain that pounded the windows. There was a bad leak in the ceiling in the kitchen, and he could hear the water pinging into the pot he had magicked to never fill.

He could have stopped up the leak, he supposed, but the noise was somehow as comforting as it was irritating.

And Severus Snape was so desperate for comfort that he was seeking it in the stupidest of places.

He just wanted to settle. To feel settled. Living in this home was bad enough, but in addition, his friends were few and far between. In fact, last count, his friend set was comprised entirely of Professor McGonagall and Madame Pomfrey, who he had grown grudgingly close to during the two years he had spent at the Hogwarts infirmary. They told him he hadn't been sent to St Mungos because it was dreadfully overcrowded, but he sensed something else beneath the surface. He probably would have frightened everyone in that damned hospital.

And he really didn't mind being alone, most of the time. It would just be nice to have someone else around a little… someone that knew when to be silent, and when to chatter, and when to wrap her arms around him…

He shook his head abruptly, standing up. He definitely did not just think that.


	2. Chapter 2

**_But I guess I'll have to settle for a few brief moments,  
And watch it all dissolve into a single second._**

_A Perfect Sonnet, by Bright Eyes._

**:::::**

Hermione had her nose in a book, standing in the centre of the aisle at the tiny antique bookshop in Diagon Alley. The musty, papery smell of the store had already sunk into her skin, but she couldn't care less. She had finally found what she was looking for, a detailed explanation of a spell she hadn't yet seen anywhere else. She was so intent in her reading, in fact, that she didn't notice the tall, dark-haired man as he tripped over her purse and careened to the floor.

At the crash, Hermione jumped back, stifling a scream.

The man jumped up quickly, and his head darted about as if ensuring that no one had seen. She realized that there was something vaguely familiar about his movements, but she couldn't put her finger on it…

And then he turned to face her, his angry expression fading quickly into recognition. Her mouth was surely hanging open, but she couldn't seem to bring it shut again. She had been sure that he was dead.

"Professor?" she said disbelievingly.

Severus shook himself off and dusted off his sweater. "Yes, Miss Granger. Still as irresponsible as you were in school, I see." he shot at her.

She blushed. "I'm so sorry, I didn't realize my bag was in the way, I must have dropped it when I found this spell, I was looking…" she trailed off, flushed from embarrassment.

Snape nodded distractedly. Hermione closed the book slowly, still gazing at her old professor. He seemed in no hurry to leave, and indeed, seemed to have forgotten about her entirely. He was standing slightly slumped and his blank gaze trained on the bookshelves across the store.

"So… how have you been?" Hermione asked awkwardly.

His gaze snapped back to hers, and he rubbed the back of his neck absently.

"Sorry for wool-gathering. I have been fine. And yourself?" he enquired, eyes darting about her face.

"I'm fine… studying a lot, experimenting. Trying to do everything, and doing nothing, all at once."

He chuckled at that, and fingered the hem of his faded black cardigan.

"Would you like to go to lunch?" she asked suddenly.

Severus glanced over her shoulder, then back at her, and, cracking his face into something that may have been intended as a smile, nodded.

They ventured, after Hermione had paid for her book, to a filthy pub on a side street. The pretty waitress seated them at a small table in front of the filthy front window, and the spring sunlight played in and across their features, making everything seem much more cheery than it really was. Severus, unused to sitting in such direct light, squinted out at the bright blue sky.

He appeared in the warm glow much softer than he really was. His hard angles faded. The light brightened his pasty face, made his hair shine, made the deep wrinkles fade and faded skin seem more vibrant. His large nose and crooked teeth were easily overlooked, Hermione pondered, when he was awash in brightness. He looked almost nice.

"Damned light," he muttered, picking up a menu and squinting at it. His hair was greasy, hanging down the sides of his face limply, but there was something sort of fractured about his harsh exterior. She could tell he hadn't spoken to anyone in some time, that he had probably been hunched over a cauldron alone in a house for years.

He looked up at her, and she blushed again, flipping open her menu as well.

"How have you kept?" she asked, not daring to look up at him.

"Well enough. Living in Spinner's End, experimenting. I get money from the Ministry, but I'm not supposed to tell people that," he said, shutting his menu. "But I guess I don't really have anyone to tell."

"You're lonely?" she asked quickly, unable to stop her mouth.

He toyed with his cup. "Irrelevant."

"We could be friends, you know," she continued. Damn, she really could not keep her mouth shut today.

He eyed her warily, as if she were playing some sort of prank on him.

"Really. I'm kind of lonely too," she said.

He nodded, and the waitress thankfully came just then to take their orders.

But she felt the importance of that moment, and his eyes barely left her for the rest of the meal.


	3. Chapter 3

**_And try to write it down into a perfect sonnet,  
Or one foolish line._**

_A Perfect Sonnet, by Bright Eyes._

**:::::**

Severus Snape was an idiot. A huge, bumbling, complete and utter fool. He threw his quill across the room, stood up abruptly, knocking his chair to the floor, and slammed his way through the kitchen door to find a cup of tea.

This was completely preposterous. Severus Snape, who always knew exactly what to say, exactly what nasty remark to throw at a quivering second-year, what snappy thing to say to Minerva to get her to leave him alone in his house. But he had been sitting at his desk for the past hour, unable to compose a letter to little Hermione Granger.

But she wasn't really so little anymore, he thought as he warmed water for the tea. She had a tired air around her, as if she were spread too thin. And her hair was wild and huge and gorgeous, her lips red, her eyes so probing… she was some blend of witch and woman, wild and mediocre, bright but faded… and he was growing somewhat obsessed.

He wanted to blame it on the fact that he hadn't been around women in so long, but that wasn't it. He was around women often; in the street, in stores, when he went to the dinner parties that Minerva occasionally threw to bring people together. But none of them glowed the way she did, none seemed as openly sad as she did. It was as though she reveled in her sadness, made it magical, made it natural and healthy and understood that it was part of life.

So he found himself intoxicated with her, craving the sound of her voice, needing to see her again. Which is how he ended up at his writing desk, trying in vain to write a letter to invite her over for dinner. He was acting as if he were writing a bloody sonnet, for crying out loud. He was acting like a dandy.

Severus finished his tea, resolute in finishing the letter that instant. He stomped into the living room once again, set his cup down on the desk, and without sitting slammed off a quick letter, no more than one line long.

"Dear Hermione," it read, "I would enjoy having you to dinner tonight at 7pm. –Severus Snape."

Scanning it quickly a second time, he tied it to the leg of his dark grey owl and sent the thing flapping off into the distance.


	4. Chapter 4

**_I believe that lovers should be tied together,  
Thrown into the ocean in the worst of weather,  
Left there to drown,  
Left there to drown in their innocence._**

_A Perfect Sonnet, by Bright Eyes._

**:::::**

Hermione was thinking. As always. She was curled into an overstuffed armchair in the sitting room of her apartment, in front of a large picture window. The apartment was small, tidy, perfectly furnished with cheap but nice things. Hermione had decided a long time ago that even if she fell into disarray, her life would not.

It had started with the final battle. Losing so many people, seeing such destruction and horror, she lost it a little bit. And the worst part was that they had, technically, won. What sort of world was plagued with such destruction, such terror, and even defeating it cost so many wonderful people their lives? Lupin, and Tonks, and Fred, and countless others. It was horrific.

So she withdrew. And Ron noticed, and he couldn't even cling onto her as she was swept viciously out to sea. Their innocence, their love, was gone, shattered, and it wouldn't come back, no matter what happened. But neither of them had really tried, maybe for the best. They weren't who had they had been in high school, and instead of tragedy bringing them together, it wrenched them apart. She suddenly felt incapable of feeling anything, while all Ron needed was someone to support him as he dealt with losing his brother. And Lavender could do that, and Hermione couldn't.


	5. Chapter 5

**_But as for me I'm coming to the final chapter,  
_****_I've read all of the pages and there's still no answer,  
_****_The only words before I know will soon come after,  
_****_It's the only way it can be._**

_A Perfect Sonnet, by Bright Eyes._

**:::::**

Severus was impatient. He had been sitting in his armchair for less than an hour, paging through the last chapter of a thick book on the lesser-known uses of dragon's blood in potions, but he hadn't absorbed any of it. Hermione was supposed to be arriving for dinner in less than ten minutes, but he had been ready for hours.

He knew he was being mad. He hardly knew Hermione, and he had never wanted someone so badly, and he was being completely and utterly irrational. Bonkers. She was young, so much younger than he was, and he had hardly been civil to anyone in over twenty years. That lunch they had shared had been almost painfully uncomfortable for him, although she didn't seem to mind, or at least was good at hiding it. But he had obsessed over it, going through their entire conversation in his head thousands of times. It was exhausting.

And he was so certain he wanted her. She was clumsy, and too talkative, and her hair was frizzy. But she was pretty anyway, with a loose earthiness that she hadn't possessed during her school years.

A knock at his door interrupted his thoughts. He had been so wrapped up in his musings that he hadn't even heard the telltale crack of her arrival. He took a deep breath, and stood, nervous that he had hyped her up in his mind beyond her actual existence. He wiped his palms on his trousers, shoved a hand through his hair, and opened the door.

And she was as perfect as he had thought. Her eyes were rimmed in black and grey, her lips pink, her curly hair almost tamed and falling down her back in fuzzy curls. Her light gold dress was sleeveless, with a shallowly scooped neckline that stopped just below her collarbone, and a swishy skirt that fell to her knees. She was wearing beaded copper sandals, and he almost forgot himself.

He pulled the door open and stepped aside, and she walked in past him, depositing her bag carefully on the chair he had just been sitting in. He cleared his throat.

"Thanks… for coming," he said, looking carefully at her.

Hermione smiled inquisitively, and cocked her head to one side. "Of course," she said. He felt even more off kilter than he had before, and he gestured for her to go to the kitchen. She walked carefully to the doorway, before stopping so suddenly he almost bumped into her.

"I know this is terribly uncouth, but do you mind if I take my sandals off? They're a bit uncomfortable, and I've been on my feet all day…"

He nodded, and she slipped them off and left them there, continuing into the kitchen and sitting carefully at one of the table chairs, looking up at him.

Severus swallowed hard. He had this gorgeous woman in his kitchen, sitting barefoot at his table, and there was something so oddly intimate about it that his palms were suddenly sweating again.

_Get a grip, old man, _he thought to himself. _She's just sitting at your kitchen table._

He busied himself pouring wine, and serving the dinner his house-elf Narbit had made. When he finally sat down, he was feeling somewhat more accustomed to her presence in his kitchen. She smiled up at him from over her already almost-empty wine glass, finishing it off gracefully. Watching her tip her head back and swallow the last of the wine started the palm problem all over again, and he fixed his gaze out the window and took a deep breath.

"How was your day?" he enquired, pleased to hear his voice sound deceptively calm.

"Long. I had a lot of errands to run, and I had to bring Lily- Harry and Ginny's daughter- since I had promised to babysit weeks ago.

Hermione paused as Severus winced slightly at the name, or maybe at the mention of Harry, but she brushed it off, and Severus was grateful.

"How was your day?" she asked, as he stood and got the wine from the kitchen counter.

"It was… also long," he replied vaguely. _Only because I've been half-mad waiting for tonight, _he thought, but he tactfully left that out.

She smiled up at him.

"This is good," she said, breaking the silence.

"Thank you. My house-elf made it," he said slowly, watching her face to see if she had abandoned her house-elf campaign for good.

She laughed at his look. "Don't worry, I understand better now. They like it. As long as their treated well…" she trailed off, raising her eyebrow at him.

He nodded. God, when had she learned to put him on the edge of his seat? _He _was supposed to unnerve _her. _Why was he acting like a schoolboy?

"Miss Granger, you've come into yourself," he replied as he raised his glass, letting a smirk grace his face, a glint in his eye. Ah, he was back.

Hermione laughed again, that gorgeous tinkling sound that made his chest feel tighter. God, was there anything about her that wasn't glorious?

"Call me Hermione," she said, raising her glass to his.

Severus' eyes bored into hers as they sat there, their wine glasses touching, and the room suddenly felt very hot. She brushed her hair behind her ear, before breaking the stare and downing her wine glass. He poured her another, eyes hardly leaving hers as he did so.


	6. Chapter 6

Hermione was hiding. After dinner she had gracefully excused herself to the restroom, and now was finding it very hard to leave. She was careful not to let her act slip, not to let Severus see how badly she wanted this. He was occasionally curt, occasionally didn't meet her eyes, and took any excuse available to leave the table for a few minutes. But still, somehow, things seemed to be going somewhat well. He actually paid attention to her, with what seemed to be every fiber of his being, and she had caught him staring at her mouth a few times as she spoke or sipped wine.

Sighing, she re-pinned a portion of her hair and carefully let the bathroom, shutting the door behind her. She was being particularly conscientious of herself, knowing how clumsy she could be when she hurried.

She walked back down the hallway to the kitchen, emerging as Severus cleared the last of the dishes to the sink with his wand. She leaned against the doorframe, and watched him for a few moments. He was so much older than she was, but seemed to know exactly who he was and what he wanted. And he was skinny, his skin a bit sallow, his teeth crooked and his hair limp. But she still wanted him so badly, wanted to feel his hands on her neck.

As if he knew what she was thinking, he turned suddenly toward her, and studied her carefully. Although they were on opposite sides of the room, she felt the tension thrum through the air, waves of it rolling off the both of them. She had taken a half-step toward him when he cleared his throat and tucked his wand back into the sleeve of his sweater.

"Thank you for coming," he said, glancing down at the floor and then back up at her.

"You're welcome. Thank you for inviting me," she replied, standing straighter and turning toward the door to the front room.

"Wait-" he said, before he could stop himself.


	7. Chapter 7

Severus was an idiot. A huge, bumbling, old, ridiculous idiot. He had been doing so well during dinner, acting nonchalant for the most part, and occasionally even achieving snarky. But now he was standing in the kitchen, and he had given it all away with one stupid word. Fuck.

She looked up at him, wide-eyed. Damn. She hadn't missed the significance of his verbal slip.

"Ah… don't forget your shoes!" he said, relieved that he had come up with something, anything, to cover his ass.

She looked at him, cocking her head to the side like she had earlier. She turned her body back towards him, and leaned against the doorframe, bending one knee and resting her heel on the doorjamb.

"That's not something I'm likely to forget…" she said, suddenly languid and curved and against _his_ doorframe. His chest felt tight again, and he stepped quickly toward her, before he caught himself and stopped.

"You should go, I have things I have to do tonight," he said quickly, barely able to tear his eyes from her hips.

A slight falter passed over her face, but she nodded and turned swiftly, slipping on her sandals and picking up her purse in a flash. She paused with her hand on the doorknob, looking at him over her shoulder, and her eyes lingered on his. Then she was gone.


	8. Chapter 8

**_And I stand in the sun  
__And I breathe with my lungs  
__Trying to spare me  
__The weight of the truth._**

_A Perfect Sonnet, by Bright Eyes._

**:::::**

Severus was sitting on his porch, something he rarely did in the dismal British spring. But the clouds were uncharacteristically absent, and the sun was warming everything it touched, and Severus felt like he needed a good warming.

_Not where Hermione is concerned, you don't_, a voice in his head taunted. _You're certainly plenty fired up for her._

He rubbed his face with his hands, and shoved his hair out of his face. The sun was so bright it was beginning to give him a headache, but he didn't want to go inside. Inside was worse, inside was where the only thing he could think about was the way last night her toes had curled into his dingy carpet, or the way her back had arched against that doorframe, or the way her fingers had wrapped themselves gracefully around her wine glass. No, inside was definitely somewhere he did not need to be.

But the sun _was_ irritating. He took another long drink of his coffee, and tried to avoid letting the truth press down upon his boyish fantasies and desires.

The truth was, he was old. He was old and worn thin and very, very irritable. He was tired, and grim, and faded, and he had no desire to change any of those things. He had given up his happiness as a boy, and didn't want to risk losing his cold grip on reality by hunting for it again. Hermione was sunshine, she was freshly mowed grass in the summer, and brambles by the lake at his grandmother's house, and she was fresh coffee and thick musty books and so many other things that he couldn't even name. She didn't need to be weighed down by him, she didn't need to be pulled into the sinkhole that was his entire being. Everyone he cared about inevitably got hurt. So no matter how much she wanted it, he wasn't going to cave.

_And you know she wants it_, that voice said again. It was true, it was undeniable. The way her eyes had followed him last night was telling enough, but every time he was near her, her body swayed toward him like he was the earth and she the moon, tugged in infinite spirals by his gravity.

_Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad thing, to have her._

He sighed. The sun was too much. Inside was better, where he could think about her, and lie about, and feign a sickness to himself so he could stay in bed all day. Maybe forever. Gods, if she were with him, he would never leave bed again.

Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad thing to have her, as long as he could keep himself from thinking too much.


	9. Chapter 9

**_Seeing everything you've ever seen was just a mirror,_**  
**_Spend your whole life sweating in an endless fever,_**  
**_Laying in a bathtub full of freezing water,_**  
**_Wishing you were a ghost._**

_A Perfect Sonnet, by Bright Eyes._

**:::::**

Hermione was cold. No, she was freezing, right through to her bones. Her bath had gone cold hours ago, but she couldn't be bothered to pull herself from the tub and dry herself off. If there was one thing Hermione had never been accused of, it was being easily distracted while lost in thought. Or maybe she just couldn't come up with a good reason to get out of the tub. She was tired, and very confused.

She was caught up in her own head, thinking about Snape- no, Severus- and wondering why he was acting so bipolar towards her. One second, he was undressing her with his eyes, the next, he was practically throwing her out of his house.

Hermione was exhausted. A never-ending store of energy when it came to her studies, her emotional reserves were running low. She couldn't seem to find any real emotions in the world, any real feelings. Everything she had ever felt had been contrived, and not-quite-right. But with Severus, she felt as though she could almost fall into him, that maybe they were already the same person. She could see herself in him, but she could also see something so torturously broken that she couldn't help but want to hold him until he was better. Maybe it was her mothering instinct, but she wanted to fix him more than anything. And maybe he would fix her in return.


	10. Chapter 10

About a week later Severus was busying himself in Knockturn Alley, looking for particularly unsavoury potions ingredients that his experiments were demanding. He was at a street vendor, digging distastefully through a particularly slimy bin of slugs, when a small hand tapped him on the shoulder.

He spun around, dropping a few slugs on the ground but giving the owner of the stand a death glare that threatened volumes if he dared to mention it. The man bit his lower lip with his yellow teeth and sank back into the shadows.

Hermione was standing before him in dark blue robes, looking thoroughly put-together in the dingy alley.

"Hermione-" he said, taking a half-step toward her. To her credit, she didn't step back, but he could see her cringe slightly at his slimy, gloved hands.

He cleared his throat. "Hermione. Hello."

She smiled at him. "Hello."

He looked at her, his gaze burning. He had missed her far more than was appropriate over the last eight days, wishing every moment she was there with him.

"How are you?" she enquired.

Unfortunately she said it just as Severus blurted out, "Would you like to come to dinner again?"

They both laughed awkwardly for a moment. A heavy silence followed, during which Severus removed his gloves and placed them ungraciously on the stand.

"I'd love to," she said quietly, just as he shook his head and said "Nevermind."

He didn't laugh this time, but she cocked her head to the side and smiled up at him. He found himself almost smiling back, the motion feeling uncomfortable and forced on his face.

"I'd love to," she repeated.

He nodded. "Seven?"

"I'll be there," she replied, and turned to go. He turned back to his gloves and slugs, but her hand on his elbow whirled him around again. Pulling him down slightly by the sleeve, she stood on her toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek. He flushed furiously, but she was already gone.


	11. Chapter 11

**_But once you knew a girl and you named her Lover..._**

_A Perfect Sonnet, by Bright Eyes._

**:::::**

Hermione was laughing, at something Severus said, sitting at his dinner table, twirling a wine glass in her hand as he cleared the dishes. She had kicked off her heeled shoes the moment she stepped in the door, barely allotting him the sight of her in them. But he rather liked her better barefoot, he thought to himself. She wore a grey ruffled dress with thin straps and heavy silver embroidery along the bottom, weighing down the thin layers. Her hair was falling down her back again, the curls bigger than they had been last week due to the heavy late-summer humidity that hung in the air.

She caught him looking at her, and her laughter died away. She finished the last sip of wine from the glass, and set it down, standing. She walked slowly over to the kitchen where he stood, and pulled herself up onto the kitchen counter, pushing aside his piles of carefully sorted mail. He definitely did not care.

"Severus," she began, but as much as he wanted to hear what she was going to say he simultaneously didn't give a flying fuck. He closed the distance between them, grasping her hip with one hand and the other finding its way to the back of her neck, as his lips found hers. She stiffened for a moment, and he suddenly released her and stepped back. Gods, he wanted her so much, had he been misreading her signs? She didn't want him, he was wrong, he'd been deluding himself into thinking that-

"Severus-" she began again, but differently this time, grabbing his elbow and pulling him back to her. He stood very still, wanting her to keep touching him but wanting to run very, very far away at the same time.

"Wait, I was just surprised, I had my whole speech planned out-" she said to him, a smile playing her face, her hand coming up behind his neck and pulling him down to her.

"Come back" she whispered, and his lips found hers again, and her fingers were tangled in his hair and around his neck. He couldn't get enough of kissing her, it felt like drowning, it tasted like wine and brightness and if he ever had to stop he was relatively sure he would die.

He was undoing the zipper on her dress before he even noticed himself, and he realized that maybe he should have asked permission, but she was already pulling his sweater over his head and unbuttoning his shirt, and it began to sink in that maybe she wanted this too.

Severus pushed the straps down her shoulders, shoving the dress to her waist. Hermione extracted her arms from it before bringing them back to his chest, his back, his ribs, running her hands carefully over every scar and ridge that graced his lanky frame. He dropped his mouth to her collarbone, then brought his lips back to hers, unsure if kissing her body was better than kissing her. If anything could be better than kissing her.

He picked her up, leaving his discarded clothing on the floor, and carried her, her dress hanging low on her hips, to his bed.


	12. Chapter 12

Severus awoke with a start, unsure for a few moments about where he was and who was with him and why there was so much sun pouring in the windows. He hadn't slept well, his dreams plagued with half-formed visions and twisting shadows. He was already halfway across the room to where his wand lay on the floor before it all suddenly came back to him, and he straightened and turned.

Hermione was curled into his bed, under a thin sheet. Her back was entirely uncovered, and her hair was a wreck, spilling over the pillows. He took a deep breath, rendered almost motionless at the sight of her and by the rush of memories from the night before. He used the restroom, brushed his teeth, and then crawled back into bed, wrapping his body around hers, one hand idly taming her curls. She took a deep breath and stirred, pressing more thoroughly against him in her sleep.

Severus was still watching her as she lazily came out of her slumber, stretching her back, arching away from him. He sat up quickly, but her eyes were shut as she yawned. Gods, she was stretching, and the sheet had fallen to her waist when he sat up with it. He pressed his lips to her stomach before he could stop himself, and her hands came to his hair. He thought she was going to push him away , but instead she curled her fingers against his neck and pressed him closer. He kissed his way up her torso, and her neck, and finally found her lips, but she suddenly pushed him away.

He stood up quickly, even though he was stark naked, and stared at her. Fuck. She had come to her senses. Or he had messed up.

She laughed and shook her head at his accusing glare.

"I have to brush my teeth, I have the worst morning breath. I'll be right back- can I use your toothbrush?" she said, climbing out of bed and walking over to the bathroom, but not after trailing a hand along his collarbone and kissing him on the cheek.

He nodded, still skeptical that this beautiful woman was going to willingly come back into his bed, but he sat down on the corner of it, waiting edgily for her to return. He pulled the sheet over his lap, and covered his face with his hands. This was so bad.

He felt a damp hand running along the back of his neck, and another pulling the sheet over his lap away, and when he raised his head his lips were met with hers, tasting like toothpaste. Maybe bad was the wrong word, because this was most definitely the best thing that had happened to him in a long time. He kissed her back, running his hands up her back and she climbed into his lap, wrapping her legs around him. She was smiling into the kiss, but he couldn't even concentrate with her skin against his, and he pulled her closer, closer.


	13. Chapter 13

Afterwards, lying in the afterglow, Severus with his hands behind his head and staring at the ceiling, Hermione lying on his chest and tracing lazy circles on his side with her left hand, eyes shut and smiling broadly. She was happy, happier than she had been in a long time, and she never wanted to leave that bed. But her stomach gave a protesting grumble, and so she slowly stood, stretching again, pulling the sheet off the bed and winding it around herself. He watched her, not moving, with the intensity of a hawk. Gods, with a look like that, she was a breath away from crawling back into that bed to be with him again.

"I'll make breakfast?" she asked, running a hand through her wayward curls. He nodded, still staring at her, but stood and pulled a pair of boxers on.

"I'll come," he added, following her to the kitchen. It was less that he didn't trust her in there and more that he couldn't bear to let her out of his sight.

She pulled out eggs and a pan, grinning at him. "Eggs are pretty much all I can make, so…" she said over her shoulder. He reached above her head to get the coffee grounds from the cupboard, pressing against her for a moment and dropping a kiss on her shoulder. Not touching her was painful.

Her hand reached up and wound around his neck, but he pulled away with a low groan. "We'll never eat at this rate," he said apologetically.

She laughed, and nodded. "I am starving." She turned toward him for a moment, leaning back against the counter. "And we do need to keep our energy up."

He stepped toward her, coffee abandoned, but she had already turned back to the eggs and the pan, and he ran a hand through his hair. She could get him going with one sentence, and he was already cursing himself for not having caved a week prior.

They sat at the table, but this time her barefootedness was accentuated by her dress of his sheet, wrapped tightly around her torso and knotted, leaving her shoulders completely bare. Her foot played against his under the table, and their hands were wrapped together on the table, forcing him to eat with his left hand. The sun was shining in the windows, warming the room and their table.

She glanced out the window, taking in the wild flower garden that the previous owner of the house had meticulously maintained, the garden he'd never bothered to set foot in.

Hermione stood, drinking the last of her coffee and setting the cup down.

"Are you done?" she enquired, still holding his hand but looking steadily out the window now.

He nodded, finishing his coffee as well. She pulled him to the back door, slipping into his slippers and waiting for him to pull his shoes on. Then she pulled him outside into the sun and the overwhelming flowers and the early afternoon air.

She acted like she knew where she was going, but she had no idea. She just wanted to be lost in the rosebushes, in between trees and fields and flowers with him. Then they were running, him in boxer shorts and work shoes with no socks, her in the white sheet from his bed and his slippers that were falling off her feet. She clutched the sheet to her chest and she clutched his hand, and when they reached a small clearing she stopped abruptly, causing him to bump into her.

He grabbed her waist to steady them both, then wrapped his arms around her tightly and placing his chin on her shoulder. She went to the shade under a large tree, and pulled him to the ground with her. His hands were everywhere, tugging at the sheet until the knot came undone, pressing her down into the long grass. She shut her eyes, absorbing the dappled sunlight and bird calls, the crickets and his hands on her. His hands were entwined with hers, and he was paying such attention to her breasts that she couldn't really focus on the other things anymore, only on him.


	14. Chapter 14

**_But autumn came,_**  
**_She disappeared..._**

_A Perfect Sonnet, by Bright Eyes._

**:::::**

They were laying in the bent grass beneath the tree, breathing heavily, holding hands but not otherwise touching. It was glorious to be this naked outside, in the late August air, feeling like they were the only two people in the world.

Severus had been celibate for years, only occasionally finding a discreet women to take to the Leaky Cauldron for a few weeks before she tired of him. But it hadn't ever been like this, slow and filled with sunshine. He felt so peaceful, so happy-

_You can't risk happy,_ that voice whispered in his head.

He sat bolt upright, and Hermione followed suit, looking around quickly.

"Is someone coming?" she asked, a laughing lilt to her voice, peering over the tall grass and pulling her knees to her chest.

He stood, pulling his boxers on and locating his shoes. She stood as well, wrapping her sheet around herself again.

"Severus?" she asked, looking at him, a worried undertone to the voice. He shoved his shoes on, and shook his head to clear his thoughts. All he wanted to do was lie back down in the grass and stay there forever, until it was winter and they were shivering, covered in snow but still holding one another.

He handed her the slippers she had been wearing, and she warily put them on, the sheet drooping down so low in the back that when she bent over he could see the way her lower back curved in and then flared out again-

Satisfied that they hadn't left anything in the clearing, not that there was much to leave, he began walking quickly back toward his house.

"Severus!" she exclaimed, running to catch him and grabbing his elbow. He spun to face her, realizing he looked absurd in his shoes and boxers, his hair messy and his flushed from the sex and his frustration.

"What's wrong?" she asked, biting her lip. His hand reached involuntarily to it, his middle finger tracing the lower edge of it before he realized what he was doing and snatched his hand back, forcing himself to keep his arms at his sides.

"What did I do?" she whispered this time, holding the sheet even tighter to herself.

"Nothing," he barked. "This was just a mistake. I can't believe I let myself- this was a mistake," he finished lamely.

"Severus," she whispered. "I want this. I want you. Please," she said, her hand finding its way to his chest, running along one of his thick, ropy scars. He shut his eyes, trying to block out the sun and the sounds of the outside and the small hand that was bracing itself over his heart. He took a large step back.

"Please, Hermione," he snapped. "Get a hold of yourself." The wetness that filled her eyes almost broke him, and he was dying to pull her closer and apologize and bring her back home with him, but he turned and began walking toward the house again.

"This was all a mistake. I don't want anything to do with you," he flung over his shoulder. He heard her following him, and when they were inside he shut the door firmly behind them, keeping a safe distance from her and avoiding her eyes. She walked slowly to the bedroom, and didn't bother shutting the door as she pulled on her dress. He watched her out of the corner of his eye, and by the time she came back he was pouring himself a large glass of Firewhiskey.

"Severus, I see the way you look at me. Why are you doing this?" she said, sounding far more certain of herself than she felt.

He looked at her, still wearing nothing but his underwear.

"Leave."

Her mouth hung slightly open, her brows furrowed, trying to understand what was happening, because it felt awful. And Severus was already dying to touch her again, standing there barefoot in her wrinkled dress from last night. Making her sad was killing him. But it was better than the alternative.

She turned to go, slipping her shoes on, but when she reached the door, she turned back to him.

"Severus... I want this. I want you." He began to snap something at her, but she held up her hand, effectively silencing him. He managed to arch an eyebrow, but he was sure it just looked weak and out of place in this room, with her.

"I do. I want this more than I've ever wanted anything. I'm living in Rockshire, in Ireland. In a white house with blue shutters and roses out front." Her eyes teared, and she took a deep breath before continuing. "Please come find me when you decide what you want."

And then she was gone.


	15. Chapter 15

**_And you can't remember  
Where she said she was going to._**

_A Perfect Sonnet, by Bright Eyes._

**:::::**

Severus was drunk. Blasted, shitfaced, and wasting a small fortune of the money he made from patenting his potions on Firewhiskey and, his new favorite, muggle whiskey. Apparently you generally needed some sort of identification papers to buy it, but his worn face and angry glare generally made that unnecessary.

Anyway, Severus was drunk. He was slumped in the wicker armchair on his porch again, but this time he was holding a glass full of expensive whiskey and it was pouring rain. There was a blanket wrapped around him, since he wasn't wearing anything more than a white undershirt and boxers. He shivered in the crisp September air, but the liquor warmed him plenty.

He wanted to say he was drinking because there was nothing else he could do about the situation, because at least that sounded somewhat manly. But he knew he was drinking because he couldn't bring himself to go to Ireland, to search for her stupid house in whatever stupid town she was living in. He couldn't bring himself to pass his front gate out of fear that his feet would insist on going where his heart was dying to go. Instead, he kept himself inside with his year-long supply of whiskey and Firewhiskey that would probably be gone by the middle of October.

_Besides, in the shape you're in, do you even remember the name of the town?_, that persistent voice said.

Yes, he did. Stoneville, or… Fernville… or maybe Rockville? Rockville sounded good, but not quite right.

He slumped lower in the chair, and shivered again. He was damp and cold but it was better than inside. Anything was better than inside, a house so rife with 24 hours of memories that he had been sleeping in the guest room, since she had never even stepped foot in it.

And the pillows on his bed still smelled like her.


	16. Chapter 16

**_But you know that she's gone,  
'Cause she left you a song,  
That you don't wanna sing._**

_A Perfect Sonnet, by Bright Eyes._

**:::::**

He walked through his house in a haze. It would be a month tomorrow since that day. All he did was drink and want her, calculating the hours since he had last kissed her, the minutes since he had last made her flush that pretty pink colour all down her chest, the seconds since she had last smiled and pulled him to her.

He wanted her so badly it hurt, so badly he couldn't breathe, maybe didn't want to. But he'd been through hell before, almost literally, and he told himself that he could live without her. He would just drink, and never get dressed, and forget about the huge piles of letters enquiring his progress on various potions.

And he began to warp it in his mind. _She_ had left _him_, she was the one who had walked out that door. She should have stayed, insisted that she wasn't leaving until he told her the truth. He began to think it was all her fault.

_She told you how to find her_, the voice said.

If he could only remember the name of a stupid little town in Ireland. If he could, he would go in an instant, he would be in Dublin and searching for that town in the blink of an eye.

_Rockshire_. It came to him like a wave. Rockshire, Rockshire, Rockshire. White house, blue shutters.

He was halfway out of his chair when he sank back down. He wasn't entirely sure if he wanted to go. Being happy could be worse than being drunk and alone. She could leave him later on, and if he was this destroyed by missing her after less than a full day together, what would happen to him if he had her for a year and then she left? He wouldn't be able to take it. And after deciding so thoroughly to live his life without happiness, with only ambition and sacrifice and loneliness, could he give up believing that he had been choosing the right path? Being happy with her would make him hate his past even more, regret his decisions even more than he already did. He would resent her, for not existing earlier. He placed no faith in happiness; the only recurring theme in his life was pain.

_But would that all be worth it_, his mind whispered, _if you could kiss her even once more? To tell her you didn't mean it, that you love her, that you never wanted to make her sad?_

He sighed, and reached for the bottle to pour himself another drink. He had a lot of things to reconcile within himself.

But it was definitely Rockshire.


	17. Chapter 17

**_Singing, I believe that lovers should be chained together,  
Thrown into a fire with their songs and letters,  
And left there to burn,  
Left there to burn in their arrogance._**

_A Perfect Sonnet, by Bright Eyes._

**:::::**

Hermione hated herself. She hated herself for thinking that they could be together, for thinking that he would let her inside himself. She was lying on the couch, tired of thinking about this but unable to focus her thoughts anywhere else.

She had been so arrogant to think that she could win him, that it would be that simple. She had assumed that after she got him to kiss her, they would live happily ever after.

All she had succeeded in doing was catching them both up in a firestorm of pent-up sexuality and emotions and confusion, and she had ceased thinking and wrapped herself up in him. One of them was obviously going to come to their senses, he just happened to do it first. Or maybe she would have never come to her senses, maybe she never would, maybe she would have to lie in her dark house for the rest of her life, avoiding her friends and regretting ever letting her emotions get away from her. Regretting falling for Snape.

A knock on the door startled her out of her musings, and wiping at her dry eyes, she glanced out the window to see who was bothering her at that hour.

_Speak of the devil, _she thought, and steeled herself for this conversation.


	18. Chapter 18

__

**But as for me I'm coming to my final failure,**  
**I've killed myself with changes trying to make things better,**  
**But still ended up becoming something other,**  
**Than what I had planned to be...**

A Perfect Sonnet, by Bright Eyes.

**:::::**

He was dressed, wearing his best robes (though they still weren't very nice) and an old pair of shoes, because he couldn't put on the ones they had worn that day. He was disgusted with himself, assigning the biggest meaning to the littlest things that had to do with her, but he couldn't bear all the emotions so he tried to place them on objects. He had even, one frustrated night, threw out the slugs he had bought after she kissed him on the cheek.

But he was dressed, and standing on a brick street in a town called Rockshire, staring at a white house with blue shutters. The lights were off, but it was almost eight, and he knew she would be there. Somehow he knew that all the time she didn't spend at work, wherever it was that she worked, she spent in that house, hoping that he would come.

So he took a deep breath, and walked up her creaky steps, and knocked on her door. A curtain to his left twitched, and there was a horrible two minutes where he thought she wouldn't answer, and he was too late, she was gone forever.

But the door swung slowly open, and there she was. Disheveled in a wrinkly blue cotton summer dress, with a thick grey cardigan over it, she looked up at him from red-rimmed brown eyes. She swallowed audibly, and he stepped inside without waiting for the invitation. She shut the door softly behind him, before turning slowly.

He couldn't breathe. This was worse, so much more wretched and horrible than he had imagined. She was so hurt, and he was so hurt, and how could he have thought that it would possibly add up to make something remotely okay?

"I'm so sorry," he said hoarsely, not sure if he was apologizing for being so awful to her or for coming to her house. She shook her head.

"I know you're sorry," she whispered, voice cracking. She cleared her throat and continued. "I know you're sorry. But…"

A tear ran down her face, and he reached out to wipe it away, but she turned her face and it fell off her chin.

"I know you're sorry-" she began again.

"I believe you've said as much," he said, attempting to joke but just sounding wry and pathetic. But it solicited a short laugh from her, and another tear.

"Well, I just can't… I can't have you leave again," she said softly, not looking at him.

"Hermione, I would never-" he started, but she finally met his gaze.

"Then why did you?" she implored. The accusation in her voice was veiled, but sharp as a dagger, her eyes narrowing slightly.

"That was… that was my final failure. Hermione, I've killed myself with changes trying to make things better for myself over the years, trying to cancel out what I did. But I've been living with that awful life, those deaths and tortures and horrific things that I had to do hanging over my head, and despite all these changes I tried to make in myself, I still ended up becoming something that I hadn't planned to be."

She looked down again.

"I ended up becoming someone who loves you, someone who _could_ love you, even though all I was trying to do was block out the pain," he finished, shoving his hair out of his face with both hands and swallowing hard. "I love you."

She was really crying now, and he wrapped his arms around her and held her as close as he could, burying his face in her hair, cursing himself for thinking he could have ever lived without her. Her tears slowed, and finally stopped, but he just held onto her even more tightly.

She stepped back, and he was so worried that she was going to tell him he was too late, that he wasn't good enough for her anymore, that she had changed her mind.

"I couldn't breathe," she said softly, a smile gracing her tear-stained cheeks.

He reached for her again, and she stepped into his arms, sliding her hands to either side of his face and pulling him within an inch of her face. Looking into his eyes, holding his face so that there was no way he could misunderstand her, she whispered "I love you. And you deserve happiness, even though you seem to think it will hurt you. And I will never stop wanting you."

And then he, finally, closed the distance between their mouths.


	19. Chapter 19

__

**_Now I believe that lovers should be draped in flowers,  
And laid entwined together on a bed of clover..._**

_A Perfect Sonnet, by Bright Eyes._

**:::::**

His mouth hardly left hers, even as she pulled at the buttons on his robes and even as he slid her jumper off her shoulders.

"Wait-" she said, pulling back just as his hand had finally found her breast again under all the layers, and he groaned as his lips left hers, but didn't move his hand.

She shut her eyes, trying to get a grip on the wave of sensation running up her spine from just his one hand, before looking at him again. He withdrew his hand from the low neckline of her dress, but wrapped it around her shoulder instead.

"What's wrong?" he asked, suddenly afraid again.

"No, nothing, I love this, I just want to be at your house, my room is messy..." she said rapidly. He tilted his head, and she clarified. "I want to be under that tree."

He pulled her back to him so rapidly she didn't even realize it until his lips were back on hers. She smiled as he nodded against her mouth, as he found his wand in his sleeve and Apparated them directly there. They wound up a bit undershot, standing on the wrong side of his house, but Hermione grabbed his hand and pulled him behind her, running in the dark to that clearing in the prairie, her feet never faltering, as if she had walked that path more than twice over a month ago.

When they were there, it dark and barely lit with moonlight from behind the thick clouds, and the cicadas were deafening, and the air was cold, but she still pulled him down to the damp grass with the same torrid fervor she had that day, and he lay with her, and his lips found hers.

"I love you," he whispered again as she bit his shoulders, marking him. She nodded, still unbuttoning his robe, as he pulled her dress over her head.

"Please don't leave me, I can't-" he continued, interrupted slightly by the ragged breaths he was forced to take as she unbuckled his belt and pulled off his shoes and socks and pants.

She crawled back up over him, meeting his lips again, as he drove his fingers into her hair and pulled her closer.

"Stop thinking so much," she whispered, and he pushed her back into the grass and did exactly that.


	20. Chapter 20

__

**_...And left there to sleep,  
Left there to dream of their happiness._**

_A Perfect Sonnet, by Bright Eyes._

**:::::**

After, still blissfully lethargic and their muscles still wonderfully sore, they wandered slowly back to the house, since it was far too cold to stay outside for the night.

As he covered her tired body with the blankets, she reached for him, and he crawled into bed with her, laying his head against her collarbone, listening to her heartbeat.

"We'll be happy," she said tiredly, running her hands through his hair as she looked at with him with half-lidded eyes. "We'll be unbelievably happy."

He nodded, almost believing her, kissed her breastbone, and they fell asleep.

_**The End.**_


End file.
